idle hands
by ulstergirl
Summary: Ned can't stand to be away from Nancy for long.


The first time Nancy's away on a case over a weekend, Ned cleans the house. It isn't even all that dirty or disorganized—they only moved in a short time ago, really—but he unpacks the last few boxes and actually vacuums and uses lemon furniture polish. He doesn't really question it. He needs something to distract him, and that works.

He goes out with his friends sometimes, but not all the time, and it's hard to sleep when she isn't home with him. He watches cooking shows one weekend, and comes up with a welcome-home menu for her, and asks his mom for tips. Then he surprises her with a rosemary pork roast, garlic mashed potatoes, and a chocolate chip skillet cookie topped with luscious (store-bought) vanilla ice cream.

He spends the time she's finishing up a case and then on a flight back from Washington state designing a scavenger hunt for her, one that involves going to her father's house to track down a stuffed horse toy she once loved and meeting Bess at their favorite ice cream parlor to find the next clue. He spends the first weekend of spring putting down mulch and bark, prepping the flower beds for her to use. He spends the time they're apart in one month learning as much French as he can. She speaks it, and besides, he likes the idea of reading some great French classics without needing someone else's translation.

It helps. By the time she comes home he's usually exhausted from poor sleep and not giving himself enough unoccupied time to dwell on missing her, but home doesn't truly feel like home unless she's in it.

The day before their anniversary, she's away again, and there's nothing to clean or fix or do. All squealing hinges and creaking floorboards are silent now. The furnace filter is newly replaced. The freezer is stocked with ice if she needs to treat an injury with it, and the refrigerator is stocked with her favorite drink. If everything is perfect for her, maybe she'll come home sooner.

He knows it's not true. He knows she's doing what she loves, and he wishes he could be there with her more often. He just misses her so much when they're apart.

Just after six, Ned's phone rings. "We're on our way over there," Mike says as soon as he picks up. "So get dressed."

"I'm just not in the mood, man. Sorry."

"It's Friday night, Nickerson. Put on some jeans. No more moping."

"I'm not moping."

"Uh-huh. So you'll go, then. Or Howie and I will carry you out and put you in the car."

He does like hanging out with his friends, and he even enjoys it tonight, though one ear is always attuned and waiting for his cell to ring with a call from her. When he spoke to her earlier, she wasn't sure when her flight would be. During a lull in the conversation, he thinks about it again. If her flight will be late, he can just make them dinner; if she'll be coming in early, they can go out...

He only has one beer, but dinner is good, and the conversation better. Howie suggests that they go to a movie, but Mike says a matinee tomorrow will work better. Ned agrees. It will give him something else to distract him while she's gone.

He waves goodbye when he walks up the path, keys out, his phone still silent. If he doesn't hear from her soon...

But the air is different inside; it feels like bated breath. The light in the kitchen is on, and he knows he didn't leave it that way.

When he sees Nancy there, a canvas apron tied around her waist and her reddish-gold hair tied back, he thinks he's dreaming, that he wanted to see her so badly that he only imagines he is. Then she turns and smiles at him, and nothing could be so dear to him as the glint of delight in her eyes.

"Did I surprise you? They were supposed to keep you out a while longer..."

He comes over to her, slides his arms around her, holds her tight. He feels her breathe, feels her shudder when he nuzzles against her neck. "So you tried to trick me," he murmurs, and her laughter is light and sweet.

"Surprise," she repeats, correcting him, and smiles. "I know that when I'm away, you're usually so busy anyway. Taking advantage of the time alone. I wanted to do something nice for you, as an apology."

"The nicest thing you could ever possibly do is come home to me," he tells her. "Oh, Nan..."

The crash he usually feels, the anticipation so strong it almost makes him sick in the moments just before he sees her again, rolls through him like a wave; it finds nothing to hold, though, and he's left only basking in the warmth of her presence, awed by the sound of her breath. She's drizzling white chocolate over a pan of dark chocolate brownies, and she swipes her fingertip through a trace of it, offering her finger to him for a lick. He kisses her fingertips; he presses against her, hips and chest, and he finds it completely impossible to let her go.

Then she turns around and he pulls her up until their faces are even, and kisses her so sweetly. "I love you," he murmurs.

She smiles and strokes his cheek. "It seems like when I leave town, you do so much," she murmurs. "And then I come back and I feel like you're bored while we're together..."

He shakes his head. "I do all that to keep my mind off missing you," he tells her. "That's all I do, every second we're apart."

"Me too," she whispers.

"We'll do anything you want. Anything. But I'm never bored with you."

"And this weekend... we'll cook a meal together?" She raises her eyebrows. "Maybe something French, to put all that new vocabulary to good use?"

He nods. " _Oui, chéri._ Anything you want, sweetheart."

The brownies are still warm, and they share one when they're barely cool enough to taste safely. Then they sprawl on the couch together, with her settled on top of him, the crown of her head tucked just under his chin, her cheek brushing his collarbone.

"You're lonely without me?"

"Infinitely." He strokes her hair. "You're my favorite person in the whole world."

"Maybe... maybe if you had another favorite person, you wouldn't be so lonely."

"Never happen." He says it quietly, but with perfect sincerity in his voice. He will never feel for anyone what he feels for her. He will always feel lonely without her.

"Never is a long time." She takes a deep breath and pushes herself up to look into his eyes. "And you're my favorite person in the world, forever. But..."

He searches her eyes, touching her cheek, the fingers of his other hand trailing down her back. He can't even whisper it back to her.

His life doesn't stop when she's gone, but on her return, the vibrancy of it blooms again.

"There's only one person I could ever imagine loving as much as you."

She pushes herself up, onto her knees, crouching over him; her lips turn up as she reaches for his hand, kissing his fingertips much as he kissed hers.

Then she guides his hand down, but instead of leading it low, she presses it very gently against her belly and holds it there, looking into his eyes.

"And there won't be so much time for learning French," she whispers, her voice barely audible, her eyes beginning to shine. "It will be a while before we can plan another scavenger hunt. But the clues might need to be a little easier, for the next one."

He can't speak, and that wave, of such visceral, aching _longing_ crashes into him again, sweeps him away, and all of him lives in her soft voice and her beautiful eyes.

"Nancy," he whispers. "Oh, Nancy..."

And the tears spill when she nods, responding to the faintest question in his voice, and her laughter is joy and fear and longing and need, all at once. He holds her, secure and gentle, and closes his eyes.

"We..." he whispers.

"Yes," she murmurs, and buries her face against his neck, muffling her laughter. "Yes."


End file.
